


An Anti-Valentine's Day

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Holiday: v-day: Drama/Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:32:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cop, an anthropologist, a volvo, and South Pacific.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Anti-Valentine's Day

## An Anti-Valentine's Day

by C.L. Finn

* * *

Disclaimers: These lovely boys belong Bilson/DeMeo, and I'm only borrowing them for fun. Yadda, yadda, yadda. 

Notes: This is what comes from a cynical mind in the midst of Bar exam hell. Unfortunately, the boys wouldn't let me remain too cynical. 

Warnings: Cynicism and much talk of stereotypes ahead.... but all in good fun. And in case you're on the wrong list... there are two persons of the male persuasion engaged in loving activity. If that ain't your cup of tea, well have some coffee, there's plenty to be had. Oh and this is un- betaed, so any mistakes are my own fault. 

* * *

<Friday the thirteenth>

"How much?" Blair groaned into the phone on Jim's desk. "Oh, man.... well how much is the part?... and the rest is for the labor? I'll have to figure something out and get back to you." 

Jim turned from his computer when his partner hung up the phone and moved from his perch on Jim's desk, flopping down into the extra chair. 

"Looks like I'm sans-car for a while longer," Blair sighed. "They want $250 for the part and another $100 for the labor. I can get a rebuilt part for about $90... which I can scrape up enough for, but I don't have the money for more than that. Man, this sucks," he said, running his hand through his hair in frustration. 

"I can loan you the money, Chief," Jim offered. 

"Uh huh," Blair shook his head. "I already owe you money and I happen to know that you're almost as broke as I am this month after buying a new bed and replacing the other stuff in the loft." 

"Blair," Jim began, preparing his speech about how Blair works at the station for free, etcetera, etcetera. It was an old argument, one that they'd had more often lately. Blair was absolutely adament about not living off of Jim, despite the free accomodations. Jim appreciated the young man's determination to be independant, but it didn't stop him from wanting to help. After all, he felt like he owed his Guide and friend so much. But the argument was interrupted by Blair's impatient snort. 

"Save it, Jim," he said, then softened it with a smile. "I appreciate the offer, really, but I just can't." 

"Okay, Chief," Jim shrugged and turned back to the report he'd been working on, "but it's an open offer." 

"Thanks, man," Blair answered with a grin, before opening the file waiting for him on the desk. He lowered his head and whispered at Sentinel level, "I love you for the offer though." 

Jim grinned at the sentiment and the promise that the words held, but he was caught by a powerful sneeze before he could respond. He looked up to see a teenage delivery boy carrying a huge bouquet of roses. 

"Bless you," Blair chuckled. "Not a good holiday for you, huh?" He grinned as Jim rolled his eyes and grimaced. He'd been sneezing all morning since Rhonda received the flowers that all the guys from Major Crimes chipped in to buy her. Brown caught the boy at the door and then directed him to Rhonda's desk once again. Apparently, she was popular today. 

"Can you believe that?" the detective said, stopping at Jim's desk. "The woman is shameless." 

"This from the man who forgot his girlfriend's birthday," Blair shot back. "Tell me you didn't forget Valentine's day too?" 

"No, I did not," Brown answered indignantly. "In fact, I bought roses _and_ jewelry," he added proudly. 

"Still trying to atone, huh?" Jim asked. 

"You know it. So what about you, Sandburg?" he asked. "Got any hot plans with some young co-ed?" 

"H, you gotta stop trying to live vicariously through Sandburg's love life," Jim broke in before Blair could even begin to obfuscate. 

"Well, I can't exactly live through your's Ellison. Do you even remember what a date is?" 

"Ooh, that's harsh," Blair laughed. 

"Whenever," Simon's voice boomed from his office doorway, "you boys are done with your little coffee klatch, I'd like a briefing on the Burnham case." 

"Saved by the boss," Jim said and grabbed a chocolate from the box Cassie had brought the partners earlier that morning. Brown laughed and made his way back to his desk as Blair and Jim gathered their files and followed Simon. 

* * *

<Later that night.>

Bored with Ted Koppel, Jim turned around on the couch and considered his quiet companion. Since dinner, Blair had been hunched over several books, reading and taking notes for hours. Sandburg in study-mode was one of Jim's favorite sights. It was rare that his partner was so still and quiet-- although if Jim watched closely, there was really nothing still about him. When Blair was really into something, he could become incredibly focused and intense. Jim loved to watch every discovery and discarded thought play across his expressive face as he was lost in facts, and theories, and ideas. It was a wonder to behold. 

His reverie brought him back to the issue that had been bothering him all day-- Valentine's Day. He and Blair had been lovers for a while now and though the relationship was still a secret, it was clearly a solid life-time committment. The problem was that loving a man was new to both Jim and Blair. Which left him with the unsettling question of what kind of protocal was required here. 

He loved Blair, but he hated Valentine's Day. He always had, even when married to Carolyn. There was so much pressure and so little real sincerity in the whole thing. He'd gone shopping at lunch and been asaulted by flowers, candy, cute little teddy bears, sappy ridiculous cards, and any number of silly confections. Nothing was appropriate-- nothing said Blair Sandburg to him. The last thing he wanted to do was end up treating Blair like a girlfriend. So he was left back where he'd started-- hating this particular holiday. 

Blair dropped his pen on the table and leaned back, stretching his arms up over his head to work out the kinks of too many hours hunched over a book. He looked up and caught Jim watching him. 

"Hey," he smiled. "Nightline boring?" 

"Monica Lewinsky," Jim said simply with a smirk and Blair chuckled in understanding. They were of the same mind when it came to the so- called Clinton Sex Scandel-- who cares. "You gonna work late?" Jim asked, flipping off the tv and getting up. 

"No, I'm beat," Blair punctuated his statement with a yawn, reaching back to rub at his neck. Jim pushed his hand away and replaced it with his own, gently massaging the knots he found. He smiled when he was rewarded with a half-groan, half-sigh. 

"Damn, Professor, you've got to stop studying hunched over like that for hours... there are rocks in here." 

"Boulders, man," Blair countered. 

Jim leaned over and kissed the tense neck then stepped back, heading for the bathroom. "Come on, Chief, put the books away and get in bed. I'll see what I can do about those boulders." 

"Bribery will get you everywhere, my friend," Blair said, closing his book with a snap. He pulled his glasses off and dropped them on his papers, then all but sprinted for the stairs. By the time Jim had shut off all the lights and locked up, Blair was stripped down to his boxers and laying spread-eagle, face down on the bed. 

Jim chuckled at the sight and set the bottle of linament he'd brought up with him on the bedside table. He quickly shucked his own clothes and climbed up to straddle Blair's backside. When Blair wiggled seductively under him, Jim lightly pinched one of his ass-cheeks. 

"If you don't be still, I'll be forced to ravish you instead of giving you a massage," he scolded. 

"Man, if I wasn't so exhausted, I'd beg you for both," Blair sighed. 

"No kidding," Jim sympathized. "It's been a long few weeks. I'm just glad we got the Chapel case wrapped up, and this Burnham stuff is on hold. Maybe we can relax for once this weekend." 

"Sounds... ungh," Blair groaned as Jim dug into a particularly nasty knot on his shoulder. "Sounds good to me. I think maybe Sentinel's have a second calling... you know, if not law enforcement, you'd make a great masseur." Blair groaned again as Jim's sensitive fingers zeroed in on another tense muscle. 

"I'll keep that in mind," Jim answered dryly. He worked in slience for several minutes, broken only by Blair's occasional grunts and moans of pleasure, smiling at his young lover's vocal appreciation. 

"Hey Jim?" Blair asked softly when Jim was about done and had resorted to gently rubbing the small of Blair's back. It was one of his favorite spots-- warm, soft, and graceful. 

"Hmmm?" he answered absently. 

"You gonna tell me what's on your mind?" 

"What?" he asked, surprised by the question. He laid a quick kiss on each of Blair's shoulder-blades and climbed off. 

"Man, you've been walking around with your 'Do not disturb' sign on all day practically." 

"My what?" 

"It's that look you get when you're trying to work something out in your head. You're not grouchy per se, just not terribly approachable." 

Jim sighed and laid down next to Blair, propping himself up on one elbow. He reached over and moved several curls back out of Blair's face. 

"I'm sorry, Blair. It's just..." 

"Just what, Jim? You know you can talk to me about anything... maybe I can even help," he said intently. 

"It's not quite that serious, Chief," he chuckled. "It's this damn Valentine's Day thing." 

"What Valentine's Day thing?" Blair asked, furrowing his brow in confusion. 

"Chief, I've never been good at this whole romance thing, and I've never liked this holiday because of the whole pressure to come up with the right gift. But now..." he paused, waving his hand around to indicate the bed and Blair, "... now, it's even more confusing." 

Blair chuckled and leaned over to plant a quick, hard kiss on Jim's mouth. 

"Do you really think I'm into the whole hearts and flowers thing?" he asked with an affectionate smile. "God Jim, our whole relationship defies stereotyping. Why should we pigeon-hole ourselves into some cliched idea of what lovers should be?" 

Blair sat up, catching steam. Jim could see a speech coming on. 

"I mean the whole thing is so commercial anyway. I've only enjoyed it in the past because it made the women I was with happy. I'm a man, you're a man. Just because we're in a gay relationship now doesn't mean we have to start listening to Rogers and Hammerstein and buying each other roses and sappy cards. I'm not knocking those who do, but that is just not what we're about. Societal expectations aside, love doesn't have to be defined by Hollywood or Hallmark. 

"And as for romance, Jim? You are the most romantic partner I've ever had, hands down. You redefine the term. Remember when I was sick last month and you drove across town to the herbal store for me, and _then_ you made me home-made chicken soup? Or when you bought me a new pair of glasses?" 

"Blair," Jim protested, " _I_ broke the other pair in the first place." 

"That's not the point, man. You are always doing stuff for me, taking care of me like no one ever has... geez, even before we were sleeping together. _That's_ romance, Jim. And that's all I need." 

Jim grinned and pulled Blair down to plunder his mouth in appreciation for the enthusiastic speech. How the younger man could make him feel ten feet tall all the time was beyond him, but he didn't intend to stop and question it too long. 

"Have I mentioned I love you?" he asked, pulling away. 

"Yeah," Blair answered with another soft kiss as Jim pulled the blankets up over them. "Your hands were practically shouting it when you gave me that great massage." 

Jim chuckled at the smug answer. "Okay, Darwin, I get your point. So you don't mind if we just skip the whole thing tommorrow?" 

"Not at all," Blair said snuggling close and yawning. "In fact, we shall declare it an Anti-Valentine's Day," he pronounced. 

"Sounds like a plan to me," Jim answered with a grin. "But for the record, I _like_ South Pacific." 

Blair collapsed against Jim's chest in giggles at the Sentinel's indignant tone. "Man, just whatever you do, don't sing "I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair... I don't think your big tough cop image could stand it." 

"You happen to be firmly entrenched in my hair," Jim answered, trying to ignore Blair's giggling, which became a snort at the comment. He looked up and ran a hand over Jim's hairline. 

"I'll try not to pull any out. Don't think you could afford it." 

"Shut up and go to sleep, Sandburg," Jim growled, but softened it with a kiss to his lover's temple as he got comfortable. Jim drifted off to sleep with his precious Guide wrapped in his arms and an idea forming in his head. If that was Blair's idea of romance, then romance he could do. 

<Saturday the Fourteenth>

Blair woke up with the mid-morning sun warming his back and an empty space next to him on the bed. He stumbled down to the bathroom and then made a beeline for the coffee he could smell waiting for him. A short note next to the coffee pot told him that Jim had gone to run some errands and would be back later. Shrugging, he took his coffee and a bagel over to the table where his books sat waiting for him. 

It didn't take long for Blair to lose himself in his research, not noticing the passage of time until the loft door opened around noon. Jim came in wearing an old pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, covered in spots of oil or grease of some kind. At Blair's shocked expression, Jim just grinned and gave him a quick kiss before going into the kitchen. 

"Morning Chief," he said cheerfully. "Getting some work done?" 

"Yeah," Blair answered absently, watching Jim wash the grease off his hands. "What're you up to?" 

"Stuff," Jim answered with his best cop stone-face and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. "You planning to be at the books all day?" 

"No, I'm almost done," he answered and then sighed at Jim's evasiveness. "Okay, man, what's up? You're filthy and you're acting like the cat who ate the canary." 

Jim's mouth quirked in a ghost of a smile and he pulled Blair in for a deep, good-morning kiss. "No," he said, when he pulled away for air and nuzzled his neck, "but maybe we could try the Sentinel who ate the Guide." Jim lifted his eyebrows in a mock leer, which Blair could help but laugh at. 

"Jim!" he whined, sounding not unlike a petulent child. 

"Okay, Sherlock. Put some clothes on and come dowstairs and find out." 

Jim finished his cup of coffee in one gulp and pushed away from the counter. He headed into the bathroom to get rid of his earlier cup. When he came out, Blair was dressed in jeans and heavy sweater and was pulling his sneakers on. 

"Ready, Chief? Put your gloves on, it's still chilly out," Jim tossed Blair said items and went out the door with Blair not far behind him. Jim led Blair out the back of the building into the wide alley, where he found his beloved Volvo in several pieces. 

"Oh my God, Jim! What did you do?" he exclaimed. 

"Well you have to take the old part out before you can put the new one in," he explained pointing at the old peice lying on the ground. As the pieces clicked into place, Blair stood back and put a hand on his hip. 

"Jim, I thought I said..." he started to scold. 

"I know what you said," Jim cut him off. "You said you could afford the rebuilt part, but not the labor. Well, here's the bill for the part," he pulled an invoice out of his pocket and handed it to Blair. "You can pay me for the services in kind later," he finished with another exageratted leer. 

Blair stood there speechless for a few minutes as Jim leaned down under the car's hood. Finally, he shook his head in amazement and walked over to see what Jim was doing. He looked down into the dark engine where Jim was scraping the threads clean on a hose of some sort. 

"You sure you know what you're doing?" he asked. 

"I do know a bit about cars, Einstein," he answered with a smirk. "Never worked on a Volvo before, but luckily you're not the only one around here who can read." He pointed at the open owner's manual on the ground next to the new part. Blair suddenly grinned and his eyes lit up in interest. 

"Cool! Want some help?" he asked. 

"Sure," Jim chuckled. "Hand me that wrench over there." 

The two men woked side by side for the next couple of hours, enjoying the project. They talked most of the time, about everything and nothing. Blair found that when Jim was busy with his hands and enjoying himself, he was more apt to open up. He got the older man to talk about cars he'd had when he was a teenager, his brief foray into the biker scene, and how he'd taught Steven to drive before their falling out. 

Blair, in turn, told him about the boyfriend of Naomi's who had genuinely tried to get Blair interested in helping him rebuild an old T-bird. Blair had been 12 years old, stubborn, and refused to learn or give the guy a chance to be his friend. He reluctantly admitted his regret over not being interested. 

It turned out to be a truly pleasent afternoon. 

Once they got the new part in and the car running again, they drove around the block for a test drive and stopped at Blair's favorite deli for sandwiches. Blair discovered that Jim was more adorable than usual when pleased with himself, and that the smell of WD-40 was an aphrodisiac. After stuffing their faces, they ended up in the shower together, which led to the bed-- where they might have stayed if Blair hadn't gotten a frantic call from a fellow grad student who had some kind of emergency with citations for one of Blair's journal article's. Reluctantly, and despite much grumbling from Jim, Blair got dressed and drove over to the University at about 5pm. 

* * *

By seven, Jim was firmly entrenched in front of the television and deciding whether he should wait for Blair before digging up some supper. He was fighting a pitched battle with his ego over whether he should be annoyed that Blair had to run off to Ranier. After all, his rational voice argued, if the station called you'd be out the door. On the other hand, paper citations were hardly murder and mayhem. The jealous Jim was about to win the war when the phone rang. 

"Ellison," he answered curtly. 

"I should hope so, it's your loft," Blair's voice quipped. 

"Hey Chief," he relaxed slightly at the amused voice. "Has the great Ibid disaster been averted?" 

"Yep," Blair laughed. "Peace shall again reign in footnote-land. What are you doing?" 

"Sitting in front of the tube, waiting for you," Jim whined petulently. 

"Well... um..." Blair hesitated nervously. "...I have a bit of a problem. The car won't start." 

"What?!" Jim sat up. "That's impossible. We had it running fine when you left." 

"Yeah, well, maybe it's cursed. Can you come get me?" 

"Sure," Jim said with a sigh. "Be there in a few." 

"I'll be here," Blair quipped before hanging up. 

* * *

Jim pulled into the parking lot near the Anthro building and parked next to the dark green Volvo, which had a much loved, curly-haired Anthropologist perched on the hood, like some huge hood ornament. When he turned off the truck and got out, Blair hopped off and grinned. 

"So, did it make any noise at all, or just not start?" Jim asked. 

"Huh? Oh," Blair said with a sheepish grin and a shrug. "It's working fine now. Come with me." With that he walked off toward his office, leaving a stunned Jim behind. Jim ran and caught up with him at the entrance, where he was unlocking the door to the empty building. 

"Okay, Sandburg," Jim said, grabbing his arm. "What gives? Is the car working or not?" 

"It purrs man," Blair grinned and pushed open the door. "I just needed to get you down here." Jim couldn't help but grin back at the mischevious glint in Blair's eyes. He was up to something, and if Jim were smart he'd run the other way. Problem was, Blair was the undisputed brains of the partnership. 

Taking a deep breath, Jim held his hands out in supplication. "Okay, 007, you've got me here, now what're you gonna do with me?" 

"Don't tempt me," Blair whispered huskily and leaned up for a quick kiss in the dark building. "Trust the Guide and follow," he said ominously. Unable to do otherwise, Jim did as told and was surprised when Blair went in the opposite direction of his basement office. 

They ended up in one of the smaller lecture halls-- one that had recently been renovated it seemed. The seats were padded and looked much more comfortable than the usual lecture hall fair. It would hold only about fifty people at the most and was carpeted. A table was pulled off to the side with several chinese food cartons laid out and two beers. 

"What's this?" Jim asked. 

"This," Blair said, sweeping his arms wide, "is our Anti-Valentine's Day dinner." At Jim's sceptical look, he went on. "Okay, I just wanted to thank you for fixing my car and I had actually planned on doing this one of these days anyway. 

"This room isn't used for classes. It's for events like visiting lecturers, presentations to donors, and so forth. I'll probably defend my dissertation in here too. But it also makes a great private movie theatre, and it's kind of an open secret among the TAs. I was surprised someone didn't have dibs on it for tonight." 

"Okay, Chief, I'm still a bit lost here." 

"Dinner and movies, Jim!" Blair exclaimed, grabbing Jim's hand and pulling him over to sit down at the table. "And you'll notice... no champagne or flowers, or chocolate. Chinese food, beer, and popcorn for later are the fare for the evening. Now sit and eat." 

Jim laughed and did as told, pulling off his coat and sitting down at the table. "You astound me, Chief," he said tenderly. 

"That's part of my job," Blair quipped, sitting down across from Jim and raising a beer in toast. "To keeping a Sentinel on his toes." 

"To you, Blair," Jim countered more seriously, tapping his bottle against Blair's before taking a long swig of the cold liquid. He shook his head in wonder as they both dug into the cartons. "I can't get over how easy this is." 

"What?" Blair looked up from the noodles he was ladeling onto his plate with chopsticks. 

"Us... you and me... together," he explained, and at Blair's still somewhat confused look, Jim took another drink of beer and tried to find a way to explain. "Relationships have always been so much work. With Carolyn, there were so many expectations. She wanted me to be a certain person and when I wasn't, she took it as some sort of betrayal. Everything was some kind of negotiation. I don't know, with you it's different." 

Jim laughed and shook his head. "That's crazy isn't it? I mean, look at us... this whole situation is so complicated." 

"How's that?" 

"Well, to start, we're two formerly heterosexual men, trying to keep this relationship a secret... at least for the time being. We work together, we live together, and then there's the whole Sentinel/Guide thing. It just sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. Yet, it's not. For all that, this is so simple. I can't really explain it right," Jim finished in frustration at his lack of eloquence. 

"No," Blair shook his head with a smile. "You're absolutely right. I feel the same way. I mean it's not like we don't fight or annoy each other on occasion, but the important stuff just seems to fall into place. I have theories, but I can't really give you an answer either." 

"So give me your theories, Professor." 

"Well, I think it boils down to trust. Think about it-- you almost immediatly trusted me with your senses when we met, and I totally trust you with my life. It took longer, but I think we're learned to trust each other unequivocally on a personal level as well." 

"But that's just it, Chief," Jim broke in. "I have never given trust easily, but it was like instinct with you." 

"I don't know, Jim. Maybe it's a natural Sentinel instinct.... it requires absolute trust of your Guide. Maybe it's all the life threatening situations we've been through together. Or," Blair shrugged, "maybe it's just a Plato thing." 

"Plato thing?" 

"Yeah," Blair nodded, his eyes lighting up at the idea. "Plato theorized that human's originally all had four arms and four legs, but the God's grew jealous of them and so they spilt every human into two halves. That's where the concept of soulmates comes from-- we spend our lives searching for our other half. Maybe we were lucky." 

Jim looked at Blair for a few minutes, considering the theory. It was true, so often Blair felt like an extension of himself. When they'd gotten together, it had felt like coming home on a very elemental level. He didn't quite buy four-legged humans and jealous Gods, but the soulmates thing struck a chord. 

"Yeah, Chief," he said with a tender smile. "I think I can buy soulmates." He reached over and tucked Blair's curls behind one ear, earning him the huge, beautiful grin that he loved so much. 

When they finished eating, Blair pulled more beer out of a small ice chest and ran down to the lounge to stick some popcorn in the microwave. When he came back, he pulled out a stack of videos and grinned. 

"Okay, we've got a plethora of non-mushy movies here. Take you're pick-- The Untouchables, Hunt For Red October, The Dirty Dozen, and Men in Black.... Oh, and if the testosterone content in here gets too high, I got this for ya." He tossed a tape to Jim, which elicited a hearty laugh at the title-- South Pacific. 

"Hey, stereotypes aren't all bad," Blair grinned. 

Jim chose Men in Black since he hadn't had a chance to see it in the theatres. Blair pulled down the white screen built into the front wall and went to put the tape in the AV projector. Surprisingly, the seats were pretty comfortable, and Jim stretched out in a front one, pleased to find that the armrests flipped up. Blair turned off the lights and snuggled down next to Jim as the movie started. 

They ate popcorn, drank beer, and laughed their way through the movie, enjoying the weird aliens and Tommy Lee Jone's deadpan delivery. That, of course, was all accomplished between several serious bouts of necking. 

When that ended, Blair popped in The Untouchables. It was one of Jim's favorites, but Blair had never seen it. Before settling in, Jim shyly admitted that Elliot Ness had been a childhood idol. He'd loved the original tv series. Blair was simply fascinated by the era, giving a lengthy description of how the FBI and the mob were like warring tribes, and would have made a fascinating Anthropological study. He also admitted that he just loved the clothes and style of the era more than anything. 

Unfortunately, Blair's exaustion had caught up with him and about halfway through the movie, Jim heard his breathing against his shoulder deepen into sleep. Jim smiled and nuzzled the soft hair at his neck, pulling the pliant body closer, one arm around Blair's shoulders, his other hand entwined with the smaller one in his lap, and their sock-clad feet tangled up together. It was not unlike the way they spent many nights in front of the tv. This was contentment, Jim thought. 

When the movie ended and practically everyone had been shot, Jim leaned over with an evil smirk and softly sang a few lines of "Some Enchanted Evening" into Blair's ear. He felt Blair grin against his shoulder as he woke up and snuggled closer. 

"Oh man, " Blair groaned. "I must be dreaming, cause I could swear my super-cop Sentinel is singing showtunes." 

"You're awake, Chief," Jim chuckled. "And you missed the best parts of the movie." 

"I vaguely heard all the shooting, don't worry," Blair said, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. "I suppose the good guys won?" 

"Of course. Come on," Jim said, pulling his shoes on. "Let's go home. I seem to recall that you promised me payment for my labor today." 

Blair laughed and jumped up to collect the tapes as Jim cleaned up their food. He could practically see the sexual energy pouring off Jim as he moved around like a nervous panther. He knew he was sure to be nailed to the mattress tonight, which had been exactly his plan when choosing The Untouchables. There was something about movies with a lot of gratuitous violence. After they'd seen Face Off, Blair had walked around very carefully, but very happy, for two days. 

"Ready?" Jim asked, when they were done straightening up. 

"Oh yeah," Blair answered with an enthusiatic grin and barely restrained bouncing. He reached up and ran his hands through his curls and watched Jim's eyes darken even more. With a squeak, he was swiftly pushed up against the wall, his mouth plundered deep and hard with promise of things to come. If Blair didn't know Jim's strong objection to sex in semi-public places, redheads and coatrooms not withstanding, he would have pushed Jim to go further. Instead, he just stood and caught his breath when Jim tore himself away and grabbed his coat. 

Blair slipped into his own coat and grabbed his backpack, now full of videotapes and leftover beer. Jim tossed him another tape with a grin. 

"Don't forget this one," he said with a lift of his eyebrows. "We might need it later." 

"Oh man, don't tell me musicals make you horny too?!" 

"This from Mr. Tableleg," Jim quipped. 

"Hey, I'm only interested in one tableleg these days." Blair shook his head and shut off the lights, then locked the door behind him. When he turned to join Jim, the bigger man wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him along. 

"You know, Chief," he said. "This was the best Anti-Valentine's Day I've ever had. Thank you." 

"It's only the First Annual, Jim. A new tradition has been born." 

"Yeah?" Jim asked thoughtfully, but with a glint in his eyes. "How about next year we hit the Gun Show?" 

"Oh man," Blair groaned. "What have I gotten myself into?" 

Jim's laughter echoed down the empty hallways as the lovers headed for home. 

<The End>


End file.
